The Aftermath Chronicles: Britain
by Inventivepanzerdoessomewriting
Summary: The year is 2015, and the newly formed republic of Britain faces it's first threat, as the SFF (Scottish Freedom Fighters) lead organised Guerrilla raids on GB territory and advance into northern wales. The role of an elite sniper, known as agent "shadowman" (or "Hidden ace"), is to sabotage SFF logistics and assassinate key enemy individuals. Rated T for gore and language.
1. Chapter 1

A pain.

Just an insignificant pain, I told myself. At a time like now, I really had no time to concentrate on a pain.

After all, I would be inflicting it on many, in a couple of minutes.

A flash of light; one of them had lit up a cigarette. A surprisingly high number had turned to smoking.

After the day that it all went wrong, that is.

The tiny flicker of a lighter went out. I heard curses; there were more of them smoking than just one.

Damn. I had to find another way around them.

I eased my leg muscle out of its contorted position, and felt a wave of relief wash over me, as blood carrying buckets of salt flowed back into the cramped muscle, which I had ignored for the last twenty minutes. Gently, so as not to disturb even a leaf, I gradually drifted my way over the sodden grass, resting on my senseless knees and elbows. If only I could get to the relatively deep gutter, I could work my way straight past the guards.

I clipped my rifle back onto my back, before wrapping a thin black cloak around it. I didn't want my rifle butt to stick over the edge of my new found haven.

A laugh. Yes, she was still there. Good. Easing my balaclava-covered eye line just above the curb, I spotted her silhouette against the shinier plastic of the oil tank.

She had made two of the huge mistakes of camouflage, silhouette and shape. A human body is an easy shape to spot, and a silhouette is even easier. But then, she wasn't trying to be stealthy.

She didn't know that her minutes were numbered.

I spotted a car just ahead, and judging by the noises that came from within, I could tell that there was a boy in there, asleep. Popping up into a low, cable-layer style crouch, I padded over to the discovery, as fast as I dare. Peering into the darkness, I could make out his distinct profile.

The boy looked about 13, with long, jet black greasy hair, that reminded me of oil. He was dressed in casual clothes, yet still had a short, stubby 177 ASG Dan Wesson 4" Revolver resting gently on the seat next to him.

So, she had thought of protection after all…

*_Schink.* _

My blade slipped silently through his neck, straight between two of his spinal bones, slicing his precious nerves that were carried down his back, and back into the fresh, open air of the night again.

*_Splick._*

It was over in an instant. Just as I had rehearsed, I lent smoothly out of the way of the jet of foaming blood now spouting from his throat.

The window was open; perfect. I uncovered my rifle, and slipped my bullets into the chamber, before flicking the bold back forward.

Hopefully, I would only need one.

None the less, accidents happen.

I slipped it stealthily along the edge of the window, the wooden grain running along the metallic edge of the discovery. I had been careful to choose a spot that would keep my scope in shadow. Too many kills had been prevented in history, simply because of a glinting scope warning the target before his time came.

I could just make out their shapes, cast by a large lamp on the wall. So, they also had electricity?

I had seriously underestimated the power of that woman to impose her will over others.

Remembering the picture that I had studied so carefully for the past week or so, I visualized her features; short-medium height, hair down to her shoulders, always wore some bad-ass revolver at her side.

A sudden explosion. I hit the deck of the car. Had my rifle gone off by accident? No, it couldn't have. Peering into the gloom, I noticed a burning bin now roar with more flame than beforehand.

Of course. The guards, quite drunken and senseless, had now turned to throwing their nicotine addicted comrades' lighters into the fire.

That could certainly be of use.

Suddenly, without warning, the target stepped out of the crowd, and round the corner of the building, leading another boy behind her.

If she was going in now, I couldn't afford to wait.

I steadied the rifle, and released the safety.

But then, she stopped next to the wall with the boy. Of course! She must have a boyfriend, and sure as heck, they started kissing.

This was my opportunity. I had to take the shot.

But could I?

Those two, in each other's arms, against that brick wall. They were so similar to me and…

That was it.

That was in fact the scenario. It wasn't her and her boyfriend having a romantic moment.

It was me, and my girl.

And my target would be taking the sh-

The bullet left the rifle, travelling at over 850 meters per second, revolving at thousands of rotations per minute, spanned the darkened car park and green in barely a moment, the speed of sound oozing behind at a mere 300 meters per second. However, this lagging sound would still reach the hearing of those around to coincide more or less perfectly with another lighter's explosion.

The metallic point of lead was of the armor piercing variety; it certainly had no trouble breaking straight through the back of the head, and flying right into the soft center of the brain, burrowing its way through the thick porridge that had dictated the destruction of so many others. It broke out of the other side, penetrating and pulling apart the unseen area of the eyeball, taking brains, hair, blood and fragments of nerve in an elaborate, airborne mist, similar to that or an aerosol, precisely into the lower forehead of her boyfriend.

There, the warped and dented piece of metal carved a much less uniform path, simply proceeding to shred and slash its way through anything else that opposed it, finally striking the ivy cloaked brickwork behind the mess it had left. With a scraping cacophony similar to the sound of the destruction of a sand castle, it was finally embedded into the mortar of the wall.

Nope. The guards were still oblivious to anything.

Should give me more than plenty of time to sneak off.

I slunk out of the discovery, taking the revolver with me; to borrow the Land rover itself would be too suspicious even for the drunken 'security' monkeys to notice.

Spotting a small alleyway, I crept along it, visualizing mentally just where I should come out at.

Then, there was the pickup signal; a smashing of glass, followed by an owl hoot. My lift was here! Putting on an unprecedented sprint, I flew down the passageway. Sure enough, I emerged into a small mud passing place, where my ride was ready.

Mission accomplished.


	2. Chapter 2

Taking care not to jar the scope, I dropped my rifle and other weapons into the back of the car, before coming around to the front, and clambering in. As soon as I had shut the door, the sleek black car glided into the night.

"Success?" asked Jess?

"Yep. Covert shot as well"

"Nice. I wondered why you took your time unloading just then"

I didn't reply.

There was something about one of the guards that simply wouldn't leave my head.

As the target had left the crowd with her boyfriend, just beforehand, someone had been amid deep conversation with her. And I couldn't help but feel that I knew that person, not personally, but from somewhere...

"You alright?"

"Yeah, just thinking..."

"What about?"

"Oh, nothing much."

A girlish smile flashed across her face for a second, when she realized that I was keeping something from her. She turned and looked at me.

I just looked on into the night, and tried to make the minutes, the meter's beneath the tires fly faster. Realizing that she wasn't going to know any time soon, she readjusted her gaze back onto the road.

"Section Chief will be pleased"

"Well, I bloody well hope so too."

My nagging thoughts were beginning to get to my temper now. Not just said mysterious figure in the crowd, but having to take out a couple?

That must have left it's mark.

"Something's really on your mind, isn't it. I can tell"

"NO THERE BLOODY IS'N-"

"Look" She said, cutting me off in her 'Authority' tone. "Once we get home, once all the work's been done, I'm gonna find out what it is, it's evidently bugging you. You need to get it off your chest."

That's the trouble with girlfriends. They know you all too well. In fact, I can't remember a single situation where I've won a fight against Jess.

She's just too nice...

I smile.

"Thanks."

* * *

Just as the sun began to break across the horizon, the first beams of light picked out an old farmyard. Pulling into it, Jess parked the car behind a few bails of hay, while I grabbed my tools and headed inside.

From the outside, the barn was an image repeated across the country, probably the world: Locked doors, boarded up windows, it looked like it might have been used as a stronghold by kids at some-point. The interior of the barn looked no different from any other barn, however. As he walked up to the center of the building, now visible from all 4 corners of it, a voice cried out behind him.

"Eagle."

"Stealth." I responded

"Howya doing? I take it you took em down then?" The section chief, a tall guy with greasy, black hair, wandered out of the corner.

"Yes, sir." I replied, slightly shaken.

"Anyways, down to business." The chief opened a large metal suitcase, and placed it down in front of them.

"Now, ammo."

"1 Springfield round."

The chief selected a long, copper bullet, and placed it, it's vicious point directed at the roof of the barn, onto the cold concrete floor.

"That's everything ammo wise?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wow, when they said you were a pro, they weren't kidding! And, here's the cash. £1,000, as agreed."

The chief dropped a bundle of £20 notes in front of me. I scooped them up, and slid the bullet into my bag that always hang around my waist, full of them. As I turned to leave, a voice pierced the silence of the barn. It wasn't me, or the Chief, or Jess.

It was German, and the voice's owner, stood in the doorway, was armed. I was just about to grab my own pistol, when I saw the black secret service hat he was wearing.

"If you would like to come with me, herr..."

"Hidden Ace"

"Herr, err, Ace, then."

The secret service officer lead me around the barn, and over to his car, an ugly blue Ford Fiesta.

I smiled.

As a secret service officer, it didn't really fit the job he had.

"Herr Ace. I am here to congratulate you on the task you have just achieved. Indeed, it appears you didn't know just how important that kill was."

"No si-"

"Well, as you will not, I sincerely hope, know, I am the head of the secret service for this local area. And I have been sent to give you the full payment of what you have achieved, and to give you your next mission."

A secret service mission? I didn't know there was a secret service until about a week ago! Hell, some places in Wales haven't even got electricity yet, and there's already a secret service...

"During the mission, I don't suppose you saw this man at all?"

He held out a photo. I picked it up, and put it to the light.

And at that moment, my blood froze.

It was the man I had identified last night.

The one that was bugging me.

The one that shouldn't have been there.

The one that was, according to the archives in London, dead after an assassin destroyed his vehicle.

The one that should have died in the explosion I set up and caused 1 year ago.

The man that almost took Britain as a Nazi dictatorship, under himself.

That one.

_David King._


	3. Chapter 3

London.

January 2013.

The adults still prowled the streets, but now the inhabitants of the city fought in regular street battles, and more often than not, superior intelligence and recently, more weaponry, prevailed.

I crept silently through the building, scanning for any Adults left.

Ready?

Yes.

Scared?

Not of them, but of the consequences of what I did next.

My mission was simple:

Kill David, so as that Parliament couldn't be held responsible, allowing our agents to take power in Buckingham palace, and end the dictatorship set up there.

Simple.

A noise. Not the lumbering heavy breathing of an Adult, but the slow, rhythmic crunching of broken glass underfoot.

David had protection.

Peering around the door, my silenced SIG P226, stretch of rope and my Sniper rifle, (all lovingly provided by Parliament) being my only weapons, I swung around the corner. In one fluid motion, I sent a bullet straight through the guards skull, and into the wall behind with a sound barely louder than the original shot.

Pulling a grenade from my pocket, I hastily made up a trip mine, attaching a piece of thin wire to the pin of the metal 'death bundle', before tying the other end to the door frame.

Should keep any intruders, Adult or otherwise, at bay.

Reaching the shattered window, I lifted the sniper rifle to my eye.

Ready.

And, just on cue, the car came around the corner.

It was a textbook ambush. The explosives were laid. All I had to do, was take the shot.

Steadying the rifle, I drew a bead on the satchel attached to the manhole cover. There was enough explosive in there to send the car flying.

Provided I hit it.

The distance between car and bomb began to close. 40, 30, 20 meters. It was now or never. If I missed the shot, who knows what could happen? The car would stop. The guards would open fire. I would be killed, or worse, captured. The equipment would be traced to Parliament, and David would put his entire army into practice. 20 armed, uniformed soldiers, vs 50 or so unarmed politicians, and possibly a roaming hunting squad?

They wouldn't stand a ch-

Before I can even come to terms with what's happening, it's happened. The car is burning. The guards, and the target are dead.

I've done it.

* * *

**"HE'S DEAD!"**

"Who?" responds Jess

Suddenly, I'm not in London. I don't have my kit.

I'm in my rented house, just outside of Aberystwyth, in Wales. I'm fighting for the Republic of Britain, not Parliament.

And she's just made me some coffee.

"There is something serious going on, isn't there. Don't pretend there isn't; You've never fallen asleep on the sofa before, and you've certainly never woken up shouting "HE'S DEAD!" to yourself."

I don't respond.

"It was to do with what that secret service guy said, wasn't it?"

I let her continue.

"He said something about what happened in last night's op, didn't he?"

What was this, an interrogation? Well, it was my turn to ask now.

"Do you remember how I met you?"

"You had just killed that David guy, and were reporting back to Nicola, that girl who was always playing the 'look at me im margret thatcher and im the prime minister and now im off to flirt with all the evil dictators i can find' at Westminster, when I walked in and gave you some coffee.

Yes, why?"

I take a sip of the coffee she had made me. Perfect, as always.

"Want the short story?

He's not dead, he was meeting with last night's target, and the secret service want me to track him down and kill him."

Silence.

"I was beginning to wonder what, or whom, could scare someone as brave as you."

I smile, and she smiles back.

"Haow much did Herr blue fiesta giv you, hmm?" She asks, putting on a ridiculous voice.

My face turned. "You'd better sit down."

"He didn't give you any, did he?"

I stay completely straight faced.

"What will we have to sell? The plane?"

She sat down next to me.

"The gold lined swimming pool?"

I keep looking straight ahead.

"Rob's education?"

"He was getting along so well with that Mr Gates' kid as well..." I murmur, joining in the sarcasm. As normal, not as good as her sense of humor.

"Our Holiday home on Mars?"

Finally, I can't help but burst into laughter.

"£10,000"

"WHAT?! That's incredible!" Jess almost goes through the ceiling.

"And £20,000 more if I complete the next one"

"Never mind that! We're rich, rich! Oh, you're the best guy on the planet..." and on that note, tries to crush me with a huge hug.

"You know, it's very reassuring to know what you look for in a man..." I chuckle.

I'll save my blunt response to her careless humor for later, and allow myself to become more or less drunk on happiness.

Just for one evening.

I'll deal with my many mounting problems,

namely _him, _

tomorrow.

After all, it's not everyday you get £11,000 from the government just for putting up with a cramp, stabbing a guy, pulling a trigger and having a short lived argument with your girlfriend...

Well, maybe the last one.


	4. Chapter 4

The Cessna 172, specially painted black for nighttime parachute ops such as this one, glided through the thin winter air, it's engine silent so as to enter undetected. Whilst Intel had confirmed that the occupying force did not have RADAR facilities (not that we had them either), we kept above the thin, wispy Irish clouds for as longs as possible, before falling beautifully and faultlessly beneath them, to confirm our position, and of course, to make the jump.

My mission, as assigned by the secret service, was to track down and assassinate David, before his actions (whatever they were...) could endanger the republic. HQ didn't really have that much information on where he might possibly be staying, other than the fact that my previous target was a specialist in asymmetrical warfare, and that David might have been planning to overrun specific points of interest around the country, before seizing power.  
Jess was with me as a spotter, and to provide 'general surveillance and support'.

We always were a persuasive couple.

I readied my chute, and made one final check over of my equipment. My weapons and small range of tactical equipment were all in good order, complete with ammunition. Local money, papers and ID, (extremely crude at this time), and maps were all packed. The Parachute itself was well tested and ready to go.

Time to fly.

Stepping forward to the small, modified jump door at the back of the plane, I gripped the door, took one last look around me, closed my eyes, and launched myself into the open, pure air.

The thin, crisp air bit into my jump clothes, as I hurtled through the skies, wind whipping at my face like an angry lion tamer. Spreading my arms out, to create the largest surface area possible, the evil, spitting feeling of the air retreated, and was replaced by the cool breeze that flowed unhindered over my body.

This must be the feeling that skydiver's craved for.

In the days where normal people, even adults went skydiving.

As I descended past a new, thinner still layer of cloud, I knew it was time to pull the chord. Gripping it furiously with both hands, I pulled as hard as I possibly could, probably endangering myself with the risk of ripping it...

Hey, everyone's nervous on their first jump.

To my greatest relief, the chute opened in perfect sequence, just as the needles of the pine treetops began to brush past. I landed on the cold soil with no more than a bruise, Jess following seconds after. I gazed up into the heavens, trying to catch a glimpse of the Cessna, that would by now have banked back to the airfield in Pembrokeshire.

"Oi, quit stargazing!" Jess whispers as loud as any of us dare. "We've got contact!"

I bite the dust, and quickly pick out the silhouette of an off duty SFF soldier, his bright red armband being his most distinct feature in the darkness. However, I could only watch, as Jess pulls out her SMG, a suppressed MP5 complete with Beta magazine, and sends a burst of silent, deadly rounds into his head, as he drops to the floor, blood spewing from his skull now lain open to the stars.

All in complete, perfect silence.

As she rushed out to the body, I bundle together the two parachutes, and begin looking for suitable area to make camp. We had landed in the Knockatarriv forest, near to the town of Tralee in the south-west of Ireland, where another guerrilla warfare "expert" was stationed. HQ had expected that after seeking other advisers on the same subject, our target might make his way here to search for more advice.

We would be waiting for him.

Following a small ditch, I found 2 trees with branches forking off at about the same height, about 2 meters apart. Lifting a fallen branch that I had (quite literally stumbled across) into place across the two forks, I created the 'backbone' of the structure, to rest other fallen branches across. Despite knowing full well that this was my only chance of shelter, I groaned at the thought of all the building that lay ahead of us.

Just as I was hauling another piece of pine, it's sticky resin staining my hands, I realize that the shelter already has a roof! Emerging into my view, Jess spots me hauling the wood, and flashes me a ridiculous smile.

"You forget about the parachutes?" she whispers as loud as she dares, knowing full well that tree sap is one of the hardest and most annoying things to wash off.

"Oh shut up." I reply.

She laughs, and begins setting up the Trangia oven outside the mouth of the shelter, to start heating the first of our rations.

"That's right, get in the kitchen, girl."

She scowls at me, and I give her the same ridiculous smirk that she'd given me.

Revenge.

A few minutes later, just as the light of dawn began picking it's way cautiously through the trees, I trudge through the barely settling morning dew, down towards a stream that I had clocked earlier, to gather some more water.

As I emerged from where the trees fell away, the sheer beauty of the scene was enough to make me stop and stare. As the brand new sunlight poured from the heavens, and illuminating the surroundings, the stream seemed to flow so perfectly, it almost seemed to be alive somehow.

i had always been generally solitary when I was younger. I would always try and prove myself, then worry about others later. When you're in a team, you're no longer in control. There are other people, other needs, other ideas, other hates. One person always seems to be quite complicated enough to me.

Sure, I was never a complete loner. I had a small group of people that I would call my friends. And I certainly wasn't socially awkward. Just content, a factor that apparently made me very different from other people. And when the disease came, I had enough respect amongst the really popular people, the survivors, to get myself some basic rations, before eventually moving on to the wider, more dangerous world.

I scooped up some water and headed back.

Upon arriving back, I could smell that breakfast, consisting of (generic) dried meat and some bread, was done.

After stopping for breakfast, we decided it was time to investigate the town. Burying the equipment in our backpacks, and concealing our pistols and silencer's, we began the march into the unknown.


End file.
